


A Place to Rest (Part 4/?)

by rubycrowned



Series: A Place to Rest [4]
Category: 1D - Fandom, One Direction, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, M/M, WIP, um somewhere between fluff and angst now so goinna tag as both tbh, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubycrowned/pseuds/rubycrowned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you know where your love is? Do you think that you lost it? You felt it so strong, but nothing's turned out how you wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Place to Rest (Part 4/?)

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, ok this one turned to a monster all of it's own, and you'll be pleased to know that there is far less angst and far more fluff as of now. Song of the chapter is 'Happiness' by The Fray.

There was a fog which had clouded Liam’s vision, Zayn thought; one which obscured the warmth in his liquid chocolate eyes, left everything tinged grey with grief.

Happiness was a distant memory, a faith in a time and state of being which had been shattered in the slam of a door.

So Zayn kept his unspoken promise; he stayed.

And he saw when Liam couldn’t; what he couldn’t.

***

Niall’s birthday was only a few days after the funeral.

Zayn had been due back by then, and there had been plans for a big celebratory catch up with the boys; talk of maybe popping over and making a weekend out of it in France or somewhere.

As it was, Zayn considered it a success when he managed to drag Liam out of the house and down the road to the local pub; a meet up with the lads for a quiet drink, a relatively sober toast to Niall’s 24 years.

Liam had been begging leave all afternoon while Zayn and Karen had been nagging, pleading, scolding him into spending the evening with his best friends.

They knew it was difficult for him, but he hadn’t left the house for the three days since the funeral, hadn’t been outside at all except for the odd half hour in the backyard with a babbling Anastasia. Zayn had seen him looking at the summer sunshine around him as though it had betrayed him, daring to be warm and bright when everything was so clearly the opposite. Ana had run around, tumbled into the grass, then picked herself up, giggling. She had collected stones and bark chips and a bright yellow flower - which she _definitely_ should not have tugged off of its mother plant - to show her father; tried to pull on Liam’s fingers with her small hands to tug him into standing, to chase her round the lawn. Not that it worked, but she really did seem to want nothing more than to see that crinkle-eyed grin light up Liam’s face. _She and I both_ , Zayn thought from his position watching from the kitchen window, hand absentmindedly on the milk bottle as he made another round of tea for everyone.

In the end it had been a quiet “Go on, son. She’ll be okay,” from Liam’s own father, who nodded over his newspaper towards Ana as he spoke, which had somehow convinced Liam. She was decked out in butterfly pyjamas and cosily cuddling into her grandmother to hear the story of the baby owls who were waiting patiently for their mama to come home. She looked about ready to drop off at any second, and Zayn could feel his own lips turning up slightly at the picture before him, while Liam murmured a small “ _okay”_.

It was all the assent Zayn needed, and he rapidly bundled Liam out the door, only flinching slightly as he heard Karen’s voice drifting out from the lounge as he shut the front door behind them. _“‘I want my mummy’, said Bill”_. He just hoped Liam was too far ahead to hear.

It was just the six of them at the pub; the five lads and Sammi, Niall’s girlfriend. They’d met, well, at a pub actually, a bit over a year ago now, and had moved in together not long before Zayn had left on tour last. Zayn liked her; she reminded him a lot of Niall, and not just because she too was Irish. She was always up for a laugh, nothing the boys said or did ever seemed to phase her, and she could come surprisingly close to matching her partner not only pint for pint, but plate for plate of food. Zayn didn’t even want to think what their grocery bill was like.

Sam was fairly close to them all at this point; she shared Niall’s talent for worming a hole into your heart before you knew what was happening, until you were already missing them. And she had also been close to Danielle – almost a necessary by-product of having to be part of their five-person circus, even if Sammi hadn’t been around for the actual One Direction days. The affection for the missing person dimmed even the Irish pairs’ joy.

Despite a somewhat stumbling start to the evening though, after a couple beers in, Zayn found himself grinning at whatever story Louis was re-enacting of 18-year-old Niall for Sammi’s benefit. Even the occasional bark of laughter burst from Zayn at Niall’s flushed cheeks; he knew Niall was only a little embarrassed – he was still pretty shameless – but was going red with choking back his own laughter, and the urge to bust in and finish the story himself.

At his own laughter, Zayn found himself looking over to Liam, feeling slightly guilty.

It hadn’t escaped Zayn’s thoughts that the last birthday to be celebrated had been Liam’s. That only a few weeks ago there had been a similar night of laughter and joy. Zayn had missed it – the only time since they’d met, and it had left Zayn somewhat upset that he couldn’t give his best mate a hug on his birthday – but the brief Skype chat they’d managed to time just before Liam was headed out with his wife and daughter for a family dinner - before everyone else came over for supper and drinks - was enough to show just how happy Liam truly was.

Here, now, Liam was sitting with knuckles white around his glass of coke. A tight smile sat frozen on his face as his eyes stared blankly in the direction of the conversation around him.

Zayn reached underneath the table and gave Liam’s knee a quick squeeze.

Liam blinked.

Zayn watched.

And he could see that happiness was brittle, forced.

For now, at least, happiness was impossible.

***

Autumn was officially here and the leaves had laid down a red and golden carpet for Louis and Harry as the wedding guests entered the London Film Museum for the service. The Rotunde was stunning, and Zayn sucked in a breath as he looked around him; it was impressive, yet simple enough not to detract from the main event, blue columns matching Zayn, Niall and Liam’s ties to the most minute shade.

As co-best man, he probably should have seen the venue before the day of, but Zayn _had_ been out of the country, off the continent even, when most of the decisions regarding the wedding had been made. And since he returned, while plans had remained to keep the ceremony for the same date, Niall had stepped up as main co-ordinator with the grooms – which basically translated to being Louis’ bitch – while Zayn took care of Liam.

Zayn had been living at Liam’s for over a month now. He’d never officially moved in, but slowly and steadily, the majority of his stuff had ended up there, in one room or another. Yes, his clothes filled a small set of drawers in the ‘guest’ room, his various hair products were spread over the family bathroom counter and his green toothbrush sat in a glass next to Ana’s purple dinosaur one (Liam still had one of those ones with all the blinking lights and was plugged into its charger next to the others). But there was also a small collection of books stacked into the bookcase (alphabetically) which hadn’t been there before, Zayn’s favourite jam was in amongst the spreads, and the small, handwritten recipe book from his mother sat next to the stove.

Liam and Zayn walked in early, depositing Anastasia with Sammi to “go get pretty”; she was going to be the flower girl, and she was almost bouncing with excitement the entire trip over, and Liam had to keep telling her to stop tugging on her dress, “Yes, I know it feels nice, love, but if you keep pulling on it it’ll rip and then you won’t be able to wear it at all.” Zayn looked out the window at the passing city, hiding his smirk.

Once Sammi and Ana had disappeared, Liam took out his phone, looking at the screen and shaking his head, a small, amused smile tweaking his lips. “So, Niall texted me, freaking out because he managed to drip chilli down his white shirt, and it _should_ be covered by the waistcoat but Lou will flip if he sees, which means Niall’s off trying to find a replacement shirt.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow at Liam. “I’d ask why he was eating chilli at ten in the morning, but it _is_ Niall we’re talking about so I’m not even going to go there. One each then?” He rummaged in his pocket and held up a coin, “You call it. Loser gets Louis.”

Liam shot a look at Zayn but called out “tails” anyway when he flicked the coin into the air, and Zayn was pretty sure Liam was holding his breath when Zayn held his hand over the coin, placing it on the back the other. “Bugger, mate. Heads it is,” Zayn grinned and moved towards the door Sam had pointed out as being Harry’s, “Good luck with Groomzilla.”

And Zayn _definitely_ saw Liam gulp as he knocked and opened Louis’ door to a cry of “ _Liam_! What the hell is a full Windsor? And how is it different to a half Windsor?”

It was all Zayn could do not to do something stupid – he wasn’t sure whether he was closer to fist-pumping the air or sobbing in relief – because for almost a full hour there (he wouldn’t quite say the whole morning, but still) it was nearly like having the old Liam back. And it wasn’t as though he couldn’t understand why Liam was still pretty out of it a lot of the time, could still be found asleep some nights with a pillow wearing an old sweater of Danielle’s huddled in his arms, nose deep in the materials; or watching Ana play, curls bouncing, with such a sad expression casting shadows over his face that Zayn had to turn away.

But Zayn was always happiest seeing the genuine smile cross Liam’s face, however fleeting, however few and far between they may be. And today, Zayn had already seen almost more than he could name from the entire month previous.

Harry, much as Zayn had predicted, was fairly straightforward to organise. The younger man seemed to be taking the day’s excitement in his stride and, besides the occasional nervous fidget, he seemed almost to radiate a serenity, a total bliss for what was to come. Harry had always known what he’d wanted, and believed in the truth of it, even when he knew he couldn’t have it, not for the moment anyway. He was more patient than a lot of people would give him credit for, Zayn thought. And so Zayn found himself just about being calmed more by Harry’s presence than the other way around. He felt a little guilty leaving Liam to deal with Louis by himself, but when he sent a text to make sure that Louis hadn’t broken anything (or anyone for that matter), Liam sounded like he had everything under control.

And, although Zayn should’ve known better than to doubt Liam’s mystical powers, he was still surprised to see a relatively composed Louis stepping into the hall before Liam as they made their way to the ceremony. After the mess he’d been earlier, it was almost a little creepy.

Zayn slowed his steps to match Liam’s as they walked down several corridors towards the Rotunde. “Jesus, how the hell did you manage that, Li?” he muttered quietly, so that the grooms wouldn’t overhear. However, a quick glance at his friend’s face and Zayn thought he might regret saying anything. The tight smile Zayn had come to loathe a little was back in place as Liam stared at the backs of the two men ahead of them.

“I...I just talked to him. About how I felt when _I_ was the one getting married, the one panicking about flowers and seating and...silly tie knots,” Liam gave a slight chuckle, but Zayn wasn’t laughing, even though trust Liam to be worrying about those things more than his bride was; he did seem to remember a certain tantrum over the locations for the wedding photos.

“I reminded him why it was that we went through all the stress and the drama of it all; because we love,” Liam paused for a second, swallowing, “because we love our partners, and we want to prove that, for the whole world to see. For the rest of our lives.”

His voice broke on the final word, and Zayn looked up from where he had been determinedly focusing on the thick carpet they were walking on, to see shining eyes staring back at him, searching blindly for something to cling to.

“Right guys! Are we ready to do this thing?” Niall had leapt from around the corner, presumably wearing a fresh shirt beneath his bronze waistcoat, and thumped Harry and Lou enthusiastically on the back, before steering them in the direction of the small entrance room, by a hand on each shoulder. He turned to wink at Liam and Zayn as they disappeared through the doors.

Zayn didn’t say a word. But he did grasp Liam’s hand firmly within his own, and led them both to follow the path of the other men.

Happiness was hesitant. It was sporadic and fleeting.

But when Liam’s eyes filled with tears of an entirely different sort during Louis’ heartfelt vows, and Zayn felt a warm hand entwined with his own, he knew that, when it did arrive, it was also genuine.

***

“Unca Zayn. UNCA _ZAAAY-EEEN!_ ”

The lumpy weight of a small body forced an _oonf_ out of Zayn’s still mostly-sleeping form. He rolled over carefully so as not to dislodge it over the side of his bed. Well, not _his_ bed; all three of them – Zayn, Liam and Ana – had stayed over at Lou and Harry’s the night before, and Zayn was in one of the guest rooms.

He ran a hand down his face and gazed blearily through the light cast from the doorway at the pj clad toddler sitting on his middle, patting his chest methodically when she couldn’t get a response out of her target.

“Hey, Tazzie.” The endearment rolled sleepily off Zayn’s tongue. The nickname had arisen from some forgotten incident in the last couple of months, and the play on Anastasia’s name had apparently stuck, for Zayn at least; he seemed to be the only person who got away with using the name – the few times Liam had tried, he had received only a long-suffering look from his two-year-old daughter, which was comical enough to leave Zayn doubled over laughing without fail. “Whatcha up to?”

The pounding against Zayn’s bare chest only intensified when flailing feet joined the mix.

“It CHRISSMAS! Lotsa presents, Dad says upupup,” squealed Ana in delight, deciding the best way to proceed with this plan was to try and uncover Zayn’s hands and drag him out of bed if necessary.

“Really? Dad said it was time to get up at,” he glanced to the red numbers of the alarm clock next to him and groaned, “oh my god, Taz, ten past seven?”

“Up up!” came the undeterred response, and determined yanks on Zayn’s fingers followed, “Presents!”

“Okay, okay, up it is, ratbag,” Zayn’s voice was still fuzzy, mouth dry and just a bit furry from sleep and the night before. They had celebrated Louis’ 26th birthday the night before, just a nice dinner and a few drinks for his, and Harry’s by extension, close friends and family. It had, inevitably for a party spent with a high-spirited Louis, turned into more than a couple drinks, although someone had blessfully prevented him from getting out the shots after the wine ran out late in the night. Zayn was glad that it had already been arranged for Liam’s household to simply crash at their place the night; Christmas dinner was being hosted by the newlyweds and, while Niall and Sammi headed home and returned later the next day, it was easier for Liam to just put Ana to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms when she eventually conked out.

When Zayn sat up, throwing a giggling Anastasia half over his shoulder while he searched for some form of trousers to throw on over his pants, there was a distinct lack of headache, so he figured that was one positive at least, even if he was getting up at such a god-forsaken time. On a _holiday_. “Let’s go find that Dad of yours, huh?”

Ana was shrieking by the time they reached the lounge, Zayn bouncing her along in her upside down perch as they made their way downstairs. Zayn would normally have been a little worried about making her so excited so early in the morning, but it _was_ Christmas morning, and she _was_ a small child, so he decided it was already unavoidable. He would also normally have been more cautious about making such a racket so early but Zayn figured, as he thudded down each step with slightly more force than necessary, if he had to be up at such a ridiculous time, then so did everyone else.

The lounge looked a little like Santa’s elves had had a good night out and wound up puking Christmas all through it. There were tinsel and lights attached to most free surfaces, not only the tree, and Zayn had found (and hidden away from opportunity) at least three different sprigs of mistletoe. The tree itself was an eclectic mix; it kind of looked as though they had been going for one of those classy straight-from-a-magazine Christmas trees, but the collection of decorations which were clearly from their childhood (including a particularly hideous gold macaroni-and-glitter cardboard tree) sort of ruined the effect. If he were honest, it reminded Zayn of his own Christmas tree from when he was a kid, just a whole lot bigger.

And there was an almost obnoxious pile of presents underneath said tree – although it was for all of them this year, so it wasn’t _too_ bad – all wrapped with varying levels of skill and flair; Zayn could tell at a glance that the most poorly wrapped, with the biggest bows were from Louis, and the most precise, a little surprisingly perhaps, tended to be from Harry. They were probably distinguished best from Liam’s by the sheer _number_ of stick-on bows covering Harry’s, while Liam only ever used one, or had tied them up with ribbon instead. Zayn’s own were comparably plain; fairly nicely wrapped, if he did think so himself, but without much decoration except for the tag; he didn’t really see the point in the extras which were only going to get ripped off and thrown away in about ten seconds flat. And those wrapped in the brightest, most clashing colours, with near ridiculous lengths of tape used haphazardly but definitely effective, were from Niall.

But it was the lumpy oversized stocking leaning against the fireplace, next to a crumb-covered plate, which had Ana’s attention when Zayn placed her right side up on the carpet. Liam had explained to him the night before while he was stuffing a collection of presents into the stocking that this was the first Christmas Ana really understood what was going on. This year she actually had some memories of all the goodies and excitement that Christmas, and especially Santa, could bring. Zayn had tried to help, but his somewhat inebriated state left him less than useful, instead shoved into a corner with the Christmas cake left for Santa.

“Well don’t you look full of Christmas cheer?”

Zayn spotted Liam on one of the overstuffed couches as he straightened his sleep-stiff joints, then moved to join him, glaring.

“Merry Christmas to you too, plonker,” Zayn grumbled as he pulled Liam into a headlock and ruffled his still-shaggy hair, “I can’t believe you got me up at seven a.m.”

Liam twisted in Zayn’s grip until he was lying with his head in Zayn’s lap, facing up at him with a grim expression. “She’s been up since six.”

As if sensing she was being discussed, Ana was soon a flying ball of hair and pyjamas, landing on her father’s stomach.

“Daddaddad. Santa been!”

“Hello, bumblebee. Yes, I see, love, we’ve just got to wait on your slowpoke uncles to get their bums out of bed-”

“Well aren’t you just a picture of Christmas domesticity,” Louis’ grinning even as he stumbled through the doorway.

“And we are _not_ slow. We just don’t believe in getting up before the sun does,” Harry sounded about as grouchy as Zayn had felt; really, Liam was the only one who ever seemed able to handle early starts. At least someone had had the forethought to make sure that Harry didn’t just roll out of bed and walk into the lounge; he too was bare-chested and clad in sweatpants. “S’cold.”

Ana let out a high-pitched squeal at the new arrivals and tumbled off the sofa to wrap chubby hands around one of Harry’s, pulling him from where he stood snuggling against Louis, trying to leech some warmth from the other man.

He whined a little, extracting laughs from the rest of them, but acquiesced to the toddler’s insistence. “Fine. Where’s my presents, then?”

“No, young Harold. It’s only Santa presents first thing, the rest have to wait until after dinner, when everyone’s here. And _you_ were far too naughty this year to be getting anything from Santa.”

There may have been more grumbling from Zayn’s youngest friend, but the rest of the morning went by pretty enjoyably; mostly because Zayn wasn’t much of a cook, so Harry left him in the lounge with Anastasia and Lou. Ana seemed pretty satisfied with her haul of toys – less interested in the clothes – so she was content to play by herself for most of the time. Zayn even managed to drift back to sleep for a short while when no one was looking, although it was a light sleep; Louis was lurking somewhere and he still wasn’t convinced he’d grown out of his habit of drawing on peoples’ faces while they were unconscious.

Niall and Sammi arrived about noon, and, a couple hours later when they all sat down to eat, Zayn found himself even happier that his friends had decided to do this for Christmas, this year at least.

When the run-up to Christmas had begun in early November - far too early in Zayn’s opinion – he couldn’t help but notice Liam had begun having more frequent sombre spells again, and it didn’t take long for Zayn to realise it was due to the holiday season. Danielle and Liam had been together long enough that they had established their own holiday traditions, around family and gifts and where they went to find a Christmas tree. To carry on those traditions this year, when her absence was still so acute, and their daughter was finally starting to understand some of those rituals, could have been nothing but all sorts of painful.

The other lads agreed. They decided to have a real One Direction Christmas – they still thought of themselves as a collective like that, even if they weren’t really anymore – just them (and Sam and Anastasia by extension). All of them chose to spend the holiday at Harry and Louis’, let their families know they would see them on Boxing Day, or New Year’s, or whenever time allowed. And because they all had families which had grown used to the way these five men depended on each other over the years, they understood.

Zayn didn’t know if Liam knew exactly why they’d planned to do Christmas this way, _this_ year. It was Louis and Harry’s first chance since the wedding to host something like this as a married couple, and they did love hamming that sort of thing up; and it _was_ Louis’ birthday right before so it _was_ something they’d do, making it into a two-day event. But Zayn was pretty sure Liam would have suspected at least part of it; this was Niall and Sammi’s first Christmas since moving in together, so might’ve been expected to spend it alone together; and Liam’s parents had been less than disappointed when Liam informed them he probably wouldn’t make it back for the holiday.

Regardless, Liam had agreed to the plan, packed up all the presents secreted around the house into the boot of the car to be placed under the tree, or hidden until Ana was safely asleep to go into her Santa stocking. He had let Louis impose his family’s Christmas traditions upon them all rather than follow what had become normal for him. And Zayn thought, hoped, it had been making a difference.

There was still a slight sadness clouding his eyes at different times during the day; when Ana opened presents from ‘ _Mummy and Daddy xoxo_ ’, presents which had been bought and wrapped in-store early in the year by Danielle, tags written on herself, almost scarily well-prepared before most people even thought of the holiday season. Which Liam wasn’t even sure of the contents himself until his wee girl opened them with utter delight lighting her face. When he received his own, final gift from Danielle, cufflinks with tiny ‘ _xx_ ’s inscribed on the underside.

But, on the whole, Zayn witnessed more smiles than grimaces. There was more laughter than he’d heard in a long while, and with a combined effort, Liam was never left by himself too long to dwell.

It was a good day. For all of them.

Happiness came in waves. It was agonising.

But it was also hopeful.

***

Twenty-five years young.

So much had changed since Zayn’s last birthday; it wasn’t as extreme as that year where he first met the boys, went from a sixteen year old boy to a popstar, but it was still a lot to take in – especially when most of it had taken place in just the last five months.

If anything, Zayn could definitely say that if you had told him that on his twenty-fifth birthday he would be sitting at Liam’s kitchen table, a chocolate cupcake sitting before him with a brightly burning candle embedded in thick icing, he wouldn’t be entirely surprised.

But if you added the part where Liam was a widower, and while his hand was clasped on Zayn’s shoulder, there was also his not-quite-three-year-old daughter bouncing excitedly in Zayn’s lap, then he probably would have started to express doubts. Especially when Zayn had a hand tousled familiarly into said toddler’s hair, and was murmuring in her ear, “Soon, Taz, soon. I just have to think of a wish, okay? You can’t have a birthday cake without a wish.”

It was just the three of them for now; the sitter was going to be over soon and Zayn and Liam were heading out to meet with the lads for a proper night out, but for now, they wanted to do something which Ana could be a part of as well. And if that was a cupcake with a candle and a handmade card with a vibrant mess of scrambled crayon scribbles on the cover, then that was fine by Zayn.

It was weird, if Zayn stopped to think about it. How a person, and not even a proper person really; just this little human being with a head full of curls that Zayn could almost forget the heritage of some days, could go from this unknown – or maybe ignored – entity to such a large part of his family in such a short amount of time. Because, as unconventional as it might be, that’s what they were now, the three of them. Family.

And Zayn had considered his family for almost nine years now, but this, it was different.

It had been one of Liam’s New Year’s resolutions. Clear out Danielle’s stuff.

Zayn had been a little concerned that, even now, it was too soon. But he also nursed a secret joy that Liam was ready to make that next step in recovering from the grief of the past few months.

And Liam was ready, Zayn thought. He spent more time playing with Ana, less time watching with quiet sadness in his eyes. There was a clarity in his brown eyes which let Zayn see straight into him once more, rather than walled off from view. Less nights where Liam fell asleep on Zayn’s chest, Zayn’s fingers carding rhythmically through his hair. Zayn told himself that it had been a comfort thing, a body occupying the empty space on the other side of the bed, but it didn’t stop him missing those nights, where Liam’s breath ghosted against his neck. He craved warmth too.

They carried black rubbish bags filled with clothes to the car, drove them to the Salvation Army a few suburbs over. Liam had taken out almost everything; there was a small case taken to the spare room’s wardrobe but that was it. Just a couple knick knacks, Danielle’s wedding dress, the jersey which smelled more of Liam than Danielle anymore, her jewellery to be passed onto Anastasia when she was older. Enough for Ana to have something to remember her mother by; to prove she existed when she became barely a dream-like shadow in the corner of early memories.

Zayn had driven them home, focusing on the dim light and the steady beat of the windscreen wipers, letting Liam shed a few quiet tears in relative privacy while Ana sing-songed to herself in the back seat with her raggedy bunny.

Since that day though, Liam had seemed...lighter. It wasn’t so much like a weight had been lifted off him the past week or so, but more that Liam himself had realised he didn’t need to be burdened by grief anymore, that it was ok to smile, to enjoy himself. To find happiness in the life that was standing before him, hand out in offering, ready to take whenever Liam was ready for it. Whatever Liam was ready for.

So sitting in Liam’s kitchen on his birthday, Zayn was struggling to find something to wish for. He had his health, his family, his friends.

Happiness was there, creeping up slowly. But it was steady, there and no longer indistinct.

It was home.

And it wasn’t perfect, there was more he could, and did, wish for as the flame on the candle was extinguished to a small puff of smoke; in the warm burn at his shoulder and low in his stomach. But he was content.

And he was patient.

And that was enough for now.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Hmmm can anyone tell that I got major Christmas feels? You wouldn't believe how much headcanon actually got left out as well tbh. Right, and so for those that care here is the link to where Louis and Harry get married in this chapter (http://lfmevents.com/our-spaces/rotunde/). Also, the picture book I referenced is a real book (my favourite as a kid) - 'Owl Babies', by Martin Waddell, which you can also read here (http://foundationsladegreen.edublogs.org/files/2012/06/Owl_babies-1mifkjn.pdf). Idk if you can do links or not on ao3 so that'll do haha  
> <3


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